[Carillon]

She was in the kitchen when the message came, kneading bread. The little dark-haired baby with the golden eyes sat beside her in a basket. They had named her Aislin: vision. Why she was kneading bread, she couldn't quite say ... except that there was something soothing about the rhythmic motion of it, of the slap of the dough on the floured board and the way she had to throw her weight into each movement. One thing was for certain: it wasn't because she was hungry. She hadn't been hungry in a month.

A premonitory prickle went up her spine when the courier knocked. She could hear the muffled voices in the other room through the door, and someone paying for the letter or perhaps tipping the courier for his haste. Something about the tone of the voices made her set down the dough and pick up the basket. She tiptoed out of the kitchen to find one of the “boys”, as Connor and Anna referred to their sons. Boys indeed—they were both taller than she was, and looked her age or older. But then, elven ages are ever deceptive things, and human blood ran in both the boys' veins. She knew instinctively that she had at least a century on both of them.

As she scooped Aislin out of her basket and cradled the babe to her chest, she stole a glance at Connor. His head was bent down to the parchment as he read, and she misliked his expression. She hurried off to find Lindel and offer a hasty and half-hearted explanation.

By the time she returned, Anna was at Connor's side. She tried to assess Anna's expression as she accepted the letter Connor handed her. She read quickly, her eyes skimming the parchment. She felt cold as she read. Yes, she would come with them. Though no one had really had to ask. Somewhere in the haze of her suddenly numbed mind, she could hear Connor talking, telling them both that they would go the quick way. He beckoned, and she followed instinctively.